


Settling In

by talula



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, M/M, post season5A
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talula/pseuds/talula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after Derek leaves at the end of season four, and when Stiles struggles at the end of 5A. Needed a small fix-it to feel better about it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Settling In

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. If anyone wants to be my beta, feel free to volunteer. I have no idea how that works :) I have issues with tenses and commas.

Derek had felt his sister die; had felt the connection to his sibling snap back to him, broken, like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. He felt the loss of the bond, the sting of it hitting him, and then the missing piece, like it nicked a piece of his soul as it went. Derek felt ice cold fear go through his veins; felt his heart stop for a second. Derek had felt his sister die. 

Derek had buried his sister; dug a hole with his bare hands because he deserved to hurt. He had picked up half her body and placed it in the bottom of the hole. He had staggered for a moment, fought the urge to howl, to sing out in pain and loss. But he didn’t want to draw the other wolf. There was another wolf out there, a murderer. He could tell from the marks he could barely look at. He had grabbed a shovel from the shed without even thinking about it. His breath caught for a moment at the ease of his movement from memory, thought for a moment about how he had grabbed the shovel countless times to help his mom plant a new tree; help his dad with the herb garden, help his uncle with mulch for the flowerbed. He sucked in air painfully, and all he could taste was old burnt ash in the air. Everyone was dead. Everyone, and then it had been Laura. He was her grave caretaker, the men standing at the edge of the funeral, waiting to do their job. He had to finish his job. After, he let his hands burn as he wove the wolfsbane rope around her grave. He knew she turned into a wolf underground and that helped a little, but not enough. Derek had buried his sister.

Derek had killed the wolf who murdered his sister. He had watched him take his last breath as more of his family died. The Uncle Peter he knew died in the fire, what Derek killed was just another tragedy all the death that fire caused; that he caused. He had avenged his sister’s death and it felt hollow and meaningless, and worthless. It didn’t take anyway. But it didn’t matter. He had killed the wolf who murdered his sister. 

Derek did all these things, but he didn’t feel the weight of the absence of his sister until he achieved his full shift. In the moments after, when he turned away from Kate Argent, the first thing he wanted to do was to tell his sister. He wanted to tell her that he could do a full shift, just like Laura always said he would one day. He wanted to tell her she was right. But he couldn’t because she was dead. His brain cycled through stupid things; I want to call her, I want to send her a text, I want to go see her and watch as she laughs a sharp laugh, throws her head back and says--- nothing. Because she doesn’t exist anymore.

Derek stumbled, and his wolf looked for another place to turn, another way to send a message to her. He wanted to howl to her, wanted to send it out over the trees in the forest to find her. She used to run into the forest when the sadness got to be too much, and sometimes he ran too, but they always called each other, and the other would come back. Always come back. No matter what, they couldn’t afford to be afraid to lose each other. They had an unspoken agreement about that. When he realized he could shift, he wanted to howl over the forest and make her keep their promise to come back. He wanted to tell her that he had finally let go and had found his true wolf. But he could never tell her. She would never ever know. That’s when her death finally settled in her bones, and he had to leave. 

Derek didn’t go anywhere special. He rented an apartment with a back deck that looked out onto the beach. He bought enough furniture to go in it, a bed, a couch, a television, a kitchen table. Each day he would realize he needed something he didn’t have; pillows, a night table, shower curtain, forks. He kept busy, going out each day and standing confused in aisles, wondering what the difference was between ‘soft’ and ‘extra soft’ in pillows. For a second he thought about what Stiles would say if he saw him in the bedding section of Target, putting his head on different pillows. He almost smiled at the thought.

Stiles. That’s something else he was missing. Someone… and all at once he realized he didn’t know what they were. They had started out annoyances to each other, a necessary part of working with Scott. But then things changed quickly. So quickly, suddenly he was sitting in the back of a caravan with Stiles and they were helping a new wolf keep his cool together, making up new mantras on the spot while having a silent conversation with their eyes. Stiles had grown up, gotten strong, gotten hurt, gotten scared, and if Derek was honest, had gotten really hot. His muscles had corded on his arms, his face squared, his eyes somehow searing with knowledge. Derek got the ‘soft’ pillow and almost laughed at the joke Stiles would make about him getting soft. 

Derek was getting soft and he was okay with it. He did yoga on the back deck in the evening as the sun set, and he ran for miles along the beach when the sun rose. He got Netflix, and HBO, and a movie rental card and got lost in movies during the nights. During the day, he sometimes slept, and sometimes he didn’t. Sleeping during the day made him feel better, an excuse to hide away from the world. Derek was hiding, and that was okay with him. He didn’t look for any other wolves, didn’t challenge any territory, tried to cover his scent as much as possible so no one would even know he was there. He saw a grief support group flyer at the grocery store. He took it home and put it on his fridge, an option for a later date. They met every week. There was no rush.

Derek started to feel a twinge of something wrong. It started as a feeling in his chest, like heartburn. Then it moved to a pulled muscle in his neck, then a tightness in his jaw. When he started to feel fear in his stomach, he knew it was something. It felt like when Cora started to get picked on at school or when Laura got dumped by her first boyfriend. Something was wrong with someone he was connected to. But he didn’t know who it could be. He had no connections, he was alone.

When he got the text from Melissa that said “Scott and Stiles aren’t talking,” he could have kicked himself. Of course it was Stiles. Without meaning to, even before Scott agreed to work together, Stiles had become part of his pack; helping him, challenging him, anchoring him with a steady hand during his worst moments. Of course it was Stiles. What he didn’t get was why Stiles and Scott weren’t talking. He didn’t think anything would separate them. He thought about how far away he was from Beacon Hills, how he hadn’t had anything horrible happen to him here. But then he thought about the last time something horrible happened to Stiles. He remembered how he stood ready to defend Stiles even when he was the nogitsune; how he was ready to stop Chris Argent from hurting him no matter what. He still felt the incessant need to protect; and so he got in the car and left. 

When Derek got to Beacon Hills it wasn’t hard to find Stiles. He could smell him; heartbroken, terrified, guilt-ridden, angry, but still Stiles. He was still Stiles, and that’s all that mattered. Derek parked his car at the bottom of the preserve, and trekked up to the cliffside, sat down beside him without saying anything. Stiles looked over at Derek and looked away quickly, like he was ashamed. Derek knew that feeling and it felt like a knife in the chest to see it in Stiles’ eyes. Derek thought of what he had found away from here, and reached over and took Stiles’ hand. Stiles didn’t stop him, and only startled for a moment, before he squeezed his hand tightly.

“Let’s go,” Derek said, deciding that Stiles needed to know the feeling of peace and distance Derek had been basking in. Derek had no idea what was going on in Beacon Hills and no idea what Stiles felt guilt about, but it didn’t matter. He knew Stiles, and he wanted Stiles to be with him, and he wanted Stiles’ heart to be lighter. If Scott was no longer up to the task, he could take over. Stiles wasn’t allowed to feel this alone. Stiles gave him a look that asked ‘really?’ and then ‘can I leave really?’ And Derek just nodded slightly, an answer to both, and stood up. He didn’t let go of his hand, and Stiles had to follow. 

The drive was quiet, neither of them talking and the radio was off. The sound of the road; slight bumps, the swoosh of a truck passing them, the honk of a horn, all seemed loud enough. When they got to the apartment, Stiles said “Typical” and went into the guest room where he promptly passed out. Derek wondered if he liked the soft pillow. 

The next morning, Derek found Stiles wrapped in a blanket sitting on the back deck watching the ocean. Derek pulled on his sneakers, smiled at him, and went for a run. Stiles didn’t move, but Derek could feel that he stared at him until he couldn’t see him anymore. Stiles used Derek’s bathroom products, used a spare toothbrush and wore all of Derek’s clothes. Derek liked it more than he wanted to admit. 

Stiles adapted easily to Derek’s schedule, spending most of the night awake on the couch with Derek, thought sometimes he just stared to a spot right next to the tv, and sometimes he spent his time on the deck looking at the night sky and the waves. He slept during the day, like Derek did, except now Derek was sleeping better, something settled in him. 

Slowly, Stiles started to unwind. He started laughing softly at the movies, no longer staring off into space. He started asking Derek questions about the ocean. He started doing yoga on the back deck during the sunset with Derek. He made jokes about Derek doing yoga on the back deck during sunset. He called his Dad. He started to cook. 

Derek was washing the dishes one day and could feel Stiles looking at him, leaning against the corner of the counter across the kitchen. Derek turned to meet his eyes, turned back, huffed out a laugh and asked “What?” softly. Stiles walked across the room, put his hand on the side of Derek’s face until he was turned towards him slightly and then kissed him. The kiss was sure, but gentle, and Derek chased it, but didn’t succeed much. His hands were in the soapy water and his feet were rooted to the spot. Stiles pulled back, smiled, nodded at Derek’s dumbfounded expression and walked away. 

They never talked about it, but it kept happening. Stiles stopping him on the way out to his run and gently kissing his bottom lip. Stiles leaning over and nuzzling against his neck when Derek bought him the sugary cereal without Stiles even having to ask. Stiles straddling him on the couch and teasing him with lazy slow kisses as something played on tv in the background. 

Stiles said hesitantly on that day; “You can kiss back, you know.” And something broke in Derek. Maybe it was the thing that was waiting for permission from Stiles. Maybe it was the heartache that he heard in Stiles’ voice, like he thought he didn’t want to kiss back. Maybe he had been stopping his wolf from going too far and claiming him. But at that moment it was over, broken, and Derek surged up to meet him. Stiles gasped, but pitched back in to match him. Their tongues slid together and Stiles moaned, pushing down on his hips. Derek was rock hard and could feel that Stiles was too. He put his hand on the back of Stiles’ head, anchoring him and wrapped his other arm under Stiles’ ass and picked him up easily. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, mouth breaking away, voice uneven with heavy breaths, lips swollen. “I’ve always wondered if you could do that. Fuck, it’s hotter that I thought.” 

Derek sucked on his throat without pause. He knew there’d be a mark there later and he hoped Stiles didn’t care. He wanted to mark him all over. He carried Stiles to his bed and put him down, following, falling on top of him. It occurred to him Stiles said he could kiss back, but he’d gone much farther than that. He pulled back. Stiles looked lost, a little uncertain and highly frustrated. 

“What’s happening?” He asked. 

“Do we need to slow down?” Derek asked. 

Stiles laughed out loud, bright and happy, a sound Derek hadn’t heard Stiles make in a long time. 

“Derek, let’s just count the last three years as dating, or foreplay, or courting, or whatever old-timey thing you want, as long as you get back down here and Don’t. Stop.” 

They barely get their pants down before they start rutting against each other, skin sliding against skin, just barely wet with precome, just barely dry enough to feel a good tug. 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles moaned in Derek’s ear. Derek’s face was buried in Stiles’ neck and he can’t get away from it; stuck to the beating of his heart, the inhale of his gasps, the smell of his arousal for Derek. “Oh fuck,” Stiles said again. “Oh Derek, when we do this next time, I want to take you apart. I want to strip you naked, kiss you in every spot, finger you and—“ And Derek comes, pushing down hard and opening his mouth against Stiles’ throat. He barely puts his teeth on Stiles’ throat and he didn’t know if that’s what did it, or just that he came, but Stiles yelled out “Derek!” and comes himself, pushing up twice.

They laid there breathing heavily for a minute until Derek shifted them sideways, but still face to face. Stiles grinned. “So you like the dirty talk, huh?” 

Derek laughed. He buried his head in embarrassment, working on placing kisses where he thought he put his teeth.

Stiles sighed. “So, what should we do now?” Stiles made his hand a pretend microphone and put on a fake announcer voice, “Derek Hale, you have just resolved years of sexual tension. What are you going to do now?" 

Derek looked up sheepishly. “I have Star Wars.” 

“Oh my god! Have you watched it.?” 

“No,” Derek said. “I was waiting.” 

Stiles leaned down and kissed him again, like he couldn't stop himself. Then he got of bed and started cleaning up, talking a mile a minute about how much Derek was gonna love star wars. 

For just a second, Derek thought of Laura, and wished he could tell her about Stiles. She would have liked him. Instead of running away, he smiled, pulled on his boxers, and followed Stiles out into the living room.


End file.
